


Diachronic

by Kawaiibooker



Series: Love and Other Revolutions [4]
Category: One Piece
Genre: Amputation (off-screen), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Violence, Heat is MVP I can't repeat that often enough, Kidd is straight up not having a good time, Killer is too but that's just common knowledge, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Mild Gore, Near Death Experiences, Recovery, References to Drugs, Shanks is a bit of a bastard, during Timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25313476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiibooker/pseuds/Kawaiibooker
Summary: dia·chron·ic(adj.)Occurring over time; historical.*Kidd is torn apart and Killer is (almost) too late.
Relationships: Eustass Kid/Killer
Series: Love and Other Revolutions [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1793440
Comments: 23
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-Summit War, during the Timeskip. Content warning for lots of blood and some gore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by [Pitte](https://twitter.com/PPitteArt).

“Fight me!”

A shout like a gun going off, sparks flying, black powder catching fire. Two words, _bang bang_ , and the world stops spinning in the silence that follows.

Kidd is grinning, teeth sharp and eyes alight, near-feral with bloodlust. “Did ya hear me, Red-Haired Shanks?”, he calls across the beach, the Victoria Punk behind and an Emperor’s lair ahead. They’re outnumbered, surrounded already, blood seeping into the sand that shifts beneath their boots.

“I want a duel. Just you and me.”

At Kidd’s back, Killer stares at Benn Beckman, watches him raise an eyebrow and continue to smoke. They haven't moved, him and Shanks’ other officers, content to stand by at the very edge of the jungle where the sun struggles to breach its gloom. Something about how casual it is makes Killer lock his jaw, raise his scythes like fangs.

A glance is all he’s worth, an amused uptilt to thin lips. Beckman exhales, breath hazy with smoke, and nods at his captain. _Watch and learn._

Next to him, Shanks takes a swig of whatever swill is in that dusty old bottle of his. Eyes black as obsidian glass and just as sharp fall on Kidd, track lazily over the fur draped across his shoulders and how his fingers curl around the thrum of magnetism they command.

Shanks sighs.

“My, my, a duel… Listen, kiddo, it’s not even noon. It’s too early for this stuff, don’t ya think?”

Around Killer, the crew bristles. Underestimated, disrespected, dismissed at every turn: It’s more of the same, a mistake the mighty make before they inevitably fall at their hands. Kidd sneers.

“You Emperors are so fucking pathetic. Letting those Government dogs do whatever they want while you hoard the scraps left behind. The world doesn’t need your kind anymore, Shanks! It’s our turn now.”

Shanks’ mouth shapes itself around a low _ohhh_. “So harsh! I can’t let a speech like that go to waste now, can I, Benn?”

Beckman replies, “Guess not, Captain”, flicking his cigarette to places unknown. Just as bored, he reaches for the bottle in the same instant Shanks pushes it into his waiting hand.

This is it.

“Kidd”, says Killer, little more than a breath between them. Kidd looks over his shoulder, meets Killer’s eyes despite the mask, the grin softening to a smile, no less deadly. This is the moment they carve their names into the sky, the very fabric of the world; the moment they become infamous enough to reach even the junkyard that gave them a beginning and nothing else.

Broad-shouldered, head held high, Kidd is every bit the man Killer knew he would become as he walks into the space their enemies open up for him. A flame chasing away wolves, ready to blaze a path through whatever obstacles remain.

One step, two – Kidd is out of reach and Killer lets him go. This is the moment they’ve been waiting for. 

*

Killer watches it all unfold in snapshots, blink-and-you-miss-it glimpses he will remember to the end of his days:

A ring of surprised looks as weapons of all kind tug free, drawn to Kidd’s outstretched hands;

Red-Haired Shanks, drawing his sword, cloak fluttering where an arm should be but isn’t;

The audible crackling of Haki clashing against Haki, Kidd’s cackling laughter in the air–

There Killer stands, arms crossed and all his senses trained on every move his captain makes. Strike, counterstrike, an engine roaring to life in streaks of red and gunmetal grey, firing from all cylinders. Action, reaction, the indulgent curl of a smile on Shanks’ lips that is the antithesis to that razor-edged gaze.

Shanks lets Kidd come and Kidd does so _hard_. Over and over, snarling, “Fight me!”, metal claws hooked and closer to drawing blood with every swipe.

Then fabric tears, one long gash from shoulder to wrist if Shanks were whole. “Ah, hell”, the Emperor mutters. Taking the time to pout at his ripped cloak as if Kidd isn’t _right there_ , lunging for his throat without hesitation–

Shanks side-steps it without a single look in Kidd’s direction. “Y’know what? Fine. Make it worth my time, welp.”

And Shanks’ presence, already heavy, already suffocating, drops like a mountain on them all.

Killer grunts out a breath his lungs struggle to take back in, even at a distance. Vertigo paints his vision in smeared black and fading colors within seconds. Shanks _moves_ , and that pressure moves with him – the Kidd Pirates breathe as one, a hitched inhale as Kidd staggers mid-step and pulls up his arm just in time.

Metal clangs against metal, and blood splatters the ground.

Yet the grin on Kidd’s face goes nowhere; when Shanks pulls, his sword is slow to follow. The call of Kidd’s powers is strongest at close proximity, even for the blade of an Emperor, and for an instant their eyes lock, at a standstill.

( _C’mon_ , Killer thinks. Kidd strains, and Killer’s arms tighten across his chest to stop his hands from shaking. _Hold on, c’mon_ –)

Shanks smirks. “Huh. Not bad.”

The tension breaks, and Shanks– He _lets go_. Kidd blinks, draws back, sure on his feet again if cautious. From afar, Killer can see the gears turn in Kidd’s head, sweat trailing down his temples and breath labored while Shanks looks virtually unchanged. The glare of a sun at its zenith is reflected by Shanks’ sword; it shifts, is fully encased in the fist that rises against its master once more.

It cannot last, this tentative lull. They’re in the eye of a hurricane, a realization that finally registers in Killer’s mind, waiting for the storm to hit. They’re mice scuttling straight into the maw of a beast and Killer gasps, jolts forward.

“Captain–!”

A fraction of a second, and Shanks is upon Kidd. Haki sizzles where they meet, metal against bare skin: It’s brutal, it’s _vicious_ , it doesn’t fucking matter that Shanks is missing an arm and a sword, not when his hand bursts Kidd’s fists into their individual pieces and _keeps reaching_.

Kidd’s eyes go wide; he grabs for Shanks, the black of his nails leaving bloody lines on the Emperor’s arm. Nothing moves in Shanks’ face, _nothing_ as he digs fingers gone black with Haki into Kidd’s skin and watches it split apart.

Killer’s world narrows down to that, a sight that freezes the blood in his veins while Kidd’s spills from his neck and chest and soaks into the sand. “Kidd”, Killer whispers, “No, _no_ ”, and he’s tearing away from his crew and towards his captain. _Not like this, not like this_ , until his arm catches on _something_ and he can’t– He’s stuck–

“Kidd!!”

Shanks looks up at that, eyes dark, and it’s all it takes for Kidd to dislodge that grasp. To lurch away and back on his feet, throat working around a groan, a hand on his face. His fingers are drenched in blood.

“Stand back!”

And Killer stops, heart beating up his throat so hard it’s choking him. Kidd doesn’t look away from Shanks, the one eye left uncovered in full focus despite it all. “Knew you’d get serious eventually”, he spits, voice raw from the pain. He wipes his cheek against his shoulder, spreading the mess around.

Shanks merely raises an eyebrow. “Come on, then. Let’s finish this.”

“That kid is done for”, mumbles someone next to Killer, and only then does he realize he’s being held back by someone. Straight blond hair, a bandana, sunglasses – it doesn’t really matter who it is, just that they’re _in the way_.

Killer growls, scythes snapping out and starting to spin. The guy sighs, “Man, you have bigger problems than me right now”, mildly annoyed at most. “ _Look._ ”

Only his captain is allowed to give him orders but– Killer looks, the split-second he wasn’t lingering as Kidd recovers from a hit Killer didn’t see, and Shanks’ torn cloak billows behind him as he approaches in measured steps.

“This is why fighting you rookies is no fun. Got lucky with a fruit and then what? It’s so boring.”

Kidd’s hand goes for the dagger strapped to his chest; goes for it and doesn’t make it, Shanks’ fingers already there around his wrist, _crushing_. “Fuck you”, Kidd hisses, teeth painted crimson by the blood dripping into his mouth.

Even before the second word is out he’s knocked to the ground, sinking inches into the sand with the force of the boot pinning him there. “It’s not your turn just yet”, Shanks tells Kidd, mournful, almost.

Then he pulls. Kidd’s shoulder snaps out of its socket with a sickening noise, and Shanks keeps _pulling_ , and Killer can only watch as muscle and skin and sinews go taut, are stretched to their limits and beyond. As, fiber by fiber, they give way to the white of bone underneath–

Kidd _screams_.

_No!_

Pain radiates up Killer’s side and his arm _burns_ but he doesn’t care. _Killer doesn’t care_ about the yell of “Hey, what the hell!” and the desperate calls of his name – his crew, his friends, so far away now –, doesn’t care it’s his captain who demanded a duel and told him to stay away.

He sees Kidd on the ground, and he sees Shanks picking up his sword again, and Killer breaks through all lines drawn in the sand.

The killing blow is struck and _Killer is there_. Scythes crossed, sparks spraying where blade meets blade: Killer’s arms _shake_ and his knees threaten to buckle yet he perseveres through that infinite moment, feels the pressure double down before it lifts and time ticks on, heartbeat for frantic heartbeat.

“Enough!”

His voice rings out despite how rough it is, how every inhale aches all the way to his core. “Enough”, Killer repeats, standing between his captain and certain death. “You made your point.”

(Behind him, Kidd wheezes his name, “Kil”, garbled, weak. It sounds like _No_ , like _Get the fuck out of here_ , and Killer never imagined himself breaking the loyalty he swore to his dying breath and yet there is one imperative that stands above even that.)

(Art by [midori_ci,](https://twitter.com/midori_ci) posted with permission.)

Shanks’ head is tilted to the side, a twist to his mouth Killer would call petulant if it weren’t a fucking Emperor he’s talking to. There’s blood on his face, dotted in an abstract pattern up to the scars across his eye. Arterial spray, still wet.

“I don’t think your captain is very happy with you right now.”

“That’s for my captain to decide”, says Killer, coldly. Barely turns his head to call, “Heat! Wire!”, and with familiar steps shuffling closer and Kidd’s agonized gasps of “No, n-no, _Killer_ ” growing fainter, Killer takes a stance, scythes ready and lithe body poised to strike.

“You’re fighting me now, Red-Haired Shanks.”

Shanks just sighs, rubs at his brow with stained fingers. “So you know you don’t stand a chance and yet, here we are. What a mess.”

Surrounded by enemies on all sides, Killer doesn’t cower. “Eustass Kidd will be the man to become Pirate King”, he tells Shanks, tells the world, boots firmly planted on the ground thoroughly steeped in Kidd’s blood. It’s the fundamental truth they sail by, the dream they came up with, together.

“He will be King, and I’m the man who will get him there. My life’s as good a price as any to pay for that.”

It’s then that Shanks looks at him, fixes him with that stare like he’s only now bothering to take note of Killer’s existence. “One Piece, huh? Haven’t heard that dream in a while”, he muses, a certain softness there that seems– out of place, somehow.

“Listen. Just ‘cause Whitebeard’s gone now doesn’t mean you kids can waltz in here and start shit you’re not ready to finish. Got it? Playtime’s over. If it's a new era you want, stay alive long enough to carry it.”

There’s an out there, Killer can see it. A line of flight he doesn’t deserve, not after breaking every code of honor their kind adheres to. Shanks sheathes his sword, gestures over his shoulder for the bottle that lands in his palm an instant later. A messy gulp, and Shanks chuckles, all smiles now.

“Your captain’s got some potential, I’ll give him that. The arm’s a goner but it’s not the end of the world. Builds character, and all that.”

Killer should say something about that, about the chatty tone the Emperor strikes as if he wasn’t ripping Kidd apart bare-handed just minutes ago. Beyond the beach Benn Beckman lights another cigarette and he nods at Killer, a pointed gesture. _Get out of here._

Nothing. There’s nothing left to say, and so Killer turns his back. Leaves his pride right there in the sand where his captain almost lost his life, and follows the trail of blood through the parting crowd of Shanks’ crew and into the sea’s uncaring arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The uni beast is slain and I'm back with more kidkiller suffering. All is as it should be.
> 
> It was genuinely difficult to account for all of Kidd's scars. Shanks really did a number on him, huh? I can't wait to see more of him tbh, I'm pretty sure He's A Bastard Actually so that's how he came out here as well, haha... (To be fair Kidd _did_ insist on pissing on his lawn, so.)
> 
> Anyhow, I'm glad to be back! The second part should be up in a few days c:
> 
> EDIT: A big tearful thank you to [midori_ci](https://twitter.com/midori_ci) for illustrating this fic!!! Her art is *chef's kiss* MWAH pls check it out <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by [ghostwit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwit), [wbtrashking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fan_nerd/pseuds/wbtrashking).
> 
> Tags have been updated, please read them carefully! Additional content warning for loss of a limb and discussions of limb amputation.

“Shit, shit, fuck, shit–”

“Keep going. Boss, you there? Hey.”

“So much blood, _fuck_.”

“We got you out, Boss. You’re safe. The Punk’s right there.”

“Wire, his arm...”

“ _Boss._ Eyes on me, ‘kay? Killer– He’s fine. Right behind us. Just stay awake.”

“ _His arm–_ ”

“ _Shut up_ , Heat, I saw it, just– Keep going. Put pressure on his neck.”

“Yeah. Okay, yeah. Where the _fuck_ is Doc?”

“I don’t know. Hey, Boss? …Kidd?”

“There! Doc!”

“Shit, _shit_. We’re losing him–”

“What?!”

“ _Kidd–!!_ ”

*

Eustass Kidd comes to the taste of death in his mouth.

A blink, slow, perhaps more becoming-aware than waking from dream. Swirling patterns, clean lines: A wooden ceiling, he recognizes, the thought dim and far-away. The half-dark around him strains his eyes.

Kidd blinks. There’s something on his face. It itches, pulls at his skin. Stings, when he tries to move his head, all the way down to the fuzzy numbness where he presumes the rest of his body is. No point in questioning it – Kidd has had enough near-death experiences to know better.

He blinks, and realizes the world is off. Split into two, one half vague reality and the other– not, dark, a void that wasn’t there before. Blinks and blinks again, eyes squinting, attempting to focus where there is nothing.

_That’s… not good, is it?_

It’s a little like being underwater, this. Like when the ocean surges around him and every limb goes all loose and useless; when all he _can_ do is search for the faint outline of the sun and marvel at the beams of light that reach for him as he sinks.

Kidd’s mind is _swimming_ , that’s the word, and no part of him should ever be doing that. _Killer will be mad_ , Kidd thinks.

For swimming, and for whatever is on his face, and for tasting death.

_Killer will be–_

Kidd drifts.

Consciousness comes and goes like waves over shoreline sand, sometimes sliding over rocks unchanging, sometimes grabbing onto something and dragging it along. Kidd loses bits and pieces to that tide, chunks of time that sift through his fingers unchecked. A call of his name, quiet. Then – or perhaps later, much later – a gentle pressure wraps around his hand, and he notices it exists, his hand that is, and the hand in his hand.

Making sense of things is _hard_ but this is something Kidd knows, will always know. Everything is blurry as hell, colors and lines sliding in and out of place: Kidd finds it all the same, that flash of blue that’s inevitably there in his periphery.

Again, “Kidd?”, hopeful now. Not mad (not yet, that is) and oh, Kidd must be fucked up _bad_. The urge to laugh bubbles up from a place unknown, which is bad too because it’s perhaps a little unhinged and because that’s when he remembers he has a body and _it hurts_.

Kidd can’t tell if he laughs or not. The next wave rolls in, sloshing up to his waist; the current tears at every fiber of his being and Kidd lets go, knowing strong arms will pull him all the way up to the surface soon enough.

*

“Boss. You awake?”

It occurs to Kidd that he is. Pain is all he knows, for a moment that lingers – an ache that pulses at his core like a second heartbeat, a little to the left.

(Another one of those not-good things, to be awake.)

Kidd can _think_ , this time around, and move, and he reaches for his face because life’s a bitch and fuck the pain, he needs that shit off _now_. Fire runs up his spine, the telltale sting of fried nerves and bruised skin and–

“Ah shit, don’t–”

 _Nothing?_ A breath comes out Kidd’s mouth, an eloquent “Whuh?” that was meant to be a full sentence, and whoever’s with him must understand since the next thing he sees is dark-red ink and faded stitches and deep-seated eyes.

_Heat._

“Welcome back”, they say, and: “Stop moving or Doc will skin first me and then you.”

Must be bandages then. Kidd’s limbs are heavy, now that he takes the time to notice, blood honey-thick and sticky in his veins; the remnants of whatever Doc shot him up with to keep him down, and Kidd relents. Listens if only because there’s genuine worry in Heat’s gaze, and because listening to them is usually a sound plan when he doesn’t know what the fuck is going on. Which, actually–

“Wha’ the fuck?”

Heat huffs, “Stay awake this time and I’ll explain”, and when they push Kidd to lie flat again it’s a touch too gentle. Kidd frowns, at that and at the pinch of Heat’s brow that remains despite the clear relief to their tone. It’s on his way down that Kidd spots Killer’s mask, paint chipped and blood smeared across it like lipstick stains, left on Doc’s cluttered desk.

_Where’s…?_

And suddenly Kidd _remembers_ , sees flashes of a beach and Shanks’ cold stare and the glint of a blade and painpainpain and _Killer_ , back turned to him and staring down an Emperor–

Kidd’s gut _drops_ and he gasps, “Fuck”, snaps into motion so fast he practically jackknifes. The world spins, little dots of color exploding across Kidd’s vision like shrapnel and he pushes through it, grabs for Heat. “Fuck, _Killer_ –”

Grabs for them and overshoots by a mile, and Kidd can’t see shit out of his left eye but he shouldn’t have– His arm should’ve–

“He’s fine! Killer’s fine, Kidd, _sit down_ for fuck’s sake.”

It’s not like Kidd has much of a choice: His legs give out the instant he puts weight on them and without Heat he’d eaten dirt then and there. As it is, Heat catches him and hauls him back on the cot, decidedly less gentle now.

“Boss. Seriously, just… A lot has happened.”

Kidd shoots back immediately, “Where’s Killer?”, voice rasping low, the tone he gives commands with. Heat’s eyes darken.

“Next door. Resting, _as he should_. Had to damn near fistfight him to get him away from you. It’s been a fucking _week_ , Kidd, if you go and fuck up your stitches now I swear I’ll–”

“Okay, shit, _fine._ I’m sitting.”

“ _Good._ And cut the crap with the Haki, I’m not going anywhere.”

And… okay, it’s _rare_ for Heat to be rough with Kidd like this. They’re no sunshine by any measure of the word, just unfazed by most things life could possibly throw at them and content to let Kidd do the yelling. Here, now, Heat is– Well, stressed. Upset.

Something aches in Kidd’s chest, entirely unrelated to his injuries. “Tell me”, he says, softer and lacking that timbre. “The crew?”

The tension leaves Heat in one long exhale. They sit next to Kidd, in that void that’s really getting on Kidd’s nerves. A beat, and Kidd feels their long fingers start to pry at surgical tape and gauze.

“Shaken but doin’ okay. Worried sick about you, mostly. Punk’s good, too, before you ask. Wire says we’re two days out from land.”

“Ah.”

(It doesn’t make sense to Kidd, to dock that close in an Emperor’s orbit. Wire knows what he’s doing, though, always has. On this ship his sense for pragmatics is better than anyone’s, even Killer’s.)

There’s light in the left half of Kidd’s world, a too-bright glare that has him squinting instantly. Heat rips the rest of it off without much of a warning – Kidd bites down a groan of relief as the source of that pain-in-the-ass itch is finally gone. He blinks, blinks again, waits for his eye to adjust, bit by bit.

“Thanks.”

“Mh. How’s your sight?”

Kidd focuses on Killer’s mask, closes one eye, then the other. The contrast is substantial, the blue-white- _red_ vibrant and sharp, then dim and off-color. “Could be worse.”

Heat snorts. “Yeah, it could. Doc swore up a storm working on your face.”

There’s a bit of an edge to that, a hint of _you owe him, Boss_ that Kidd hears loud and clear. Here’s to hoping the island they’re headed towards knows what coffee is, Kidd muses. Keeps staring ahead, watching things go in and out of focus as his brain tries to compensate for the mismatched input it’s getting.

An uneasy feeling roils in his gut. It has nothing to do with that.

“Kidd, listen…”

Kidd sighs. “Give it to me straight, Heat. I can take it.”

Heat hesitates but not for long. “Your arm”, they say quietly, and yeah, Kidd remembers something about that too. “There was no saving it. We had to take it off.”

_There it is._

Kidd… lets himself sit in it, for a while, in the notion that if he were to turn his head he’d find, what, a stump? A clean cut? Perhaps it’s all gone, his body simply _stopping_ where a shoulder used to be. Kidd should have some sort of reaction to that, shouldn’t he?

Something more than a mind full of static and blank eyes refusing to _look_.

It’s a visceral thing, an instinct, perhaps, to reach out and touch first: clumsy with residue numbness and the pain he’s been resolutely ignoring nipping at the heels of every move he makes. Heat jolts like they want to hold him back, a hand brushing Kidd’s wrist as a physical reminder to _be careful_ but they let him be otherwise.

Lingering as Kidd’s fingers trace his gauze-lined chest up his neck and the bumps of stitches there. Across the slope of his shoulder (still attached, that’s something, right?) and down his bicep until–

_Oh._

Kidd looks. His hand fits weirdly against his arm or what’s left of it, to be precise; his fingers overly big and rough-looking against the white of bandages, pink where the wound is bleeding through. Cradling it, Kidd tries to make sense of the fact it just… ends, three quarters of the way to his elbow.

That’s a stump alright.

“…Boss?”

Heat’s never sounded so small, either, and Kidd shakes himself out of the existential crisis waiting to happen. There’s a lifetime ahead of him to freak out about this, which… _Fuck._

His dominant arm – gone, just like that.

“Yeah, ‘m here. Processing, I guess.”

There’s nothing to be done about the tremor in his voice. When Kidd glances over, Heat’s lips are pressed tight, their gaze liquid with emotion. “Yeah.” A beat of silence. “We, um. We ran out of anesthetics. So we’re– Yeah. Doc meant for you to sleep a few days more.”

Years they’ve sailed together, and Kidd can pick up on the things Heat leaves unspoken. Those little gaps in their speech like faultlines along the bedrock, microscopic tears in solid steel made to withstand a multitude of its own weight.

“It’s okay”, Kidd mumbles and it’s not a lie. It hurts something fierce but not enough to break him, and it’s not like they went against an Emperor expecting to come out of it unscathed. There’s a reason why Kidd aimed for a duel and not an all-out war.

Still: _Fuck._

Whatever Kidd thinks to say beyond that reeks of empty platitudes, the don’t-worry-about-its and the I’m-fines that help no one and change jackshit about anything, so he leaves it at that. Drops his hand – singular, the only one he’s got left – and shapes it to a fist to nudge Heat’s shoulder, push them a little to wipe that sad look off their face.

“Be honest. Y’all just got bored without me, huh?”

There’s surprise and then there’s a slow blink, Heat’s expression going utterly deadpan in the span of a second. “Sure. We all _hated_ having some peace and quiet around here.”

Kidd laughs, “Fuck off”, can’t make it _not_ sound as exhausted as he feels but it’s worth a try, anyways. His body _aches_ , his entire left side especially but Kidd stretches his back anyways, grunts as his spine pops in half a dozen places.

“Where’d ya say Killer is?”

Exasperation joins the mix. “You two deserve each other”, Heat grumbles under their breath, points at the door straight ahead. It’s closed, which is good because the mask is here which means Killer’s sleeping without it.

Kidd squints at it. The distance isn’t _too_ far, maybe if he goes along the wall…?

“Stay”, Heat says, serious again. “I promised Doc a check-up. And nope, you’re not getting out of that. ‘s what you get for almost dying on us.”

Kidd’s mouth shuts on its own accord. _You owe him, Boss._ “…Fine.”

Shoulders slumped, Heat reaches for Killer’s mask. “And… Soldier said to get him when you’re up. So that’s happening in a few.” They lick their thumb and make an effort to wipe away the blood, eyes fond.

“Go easy on him, ‘kay? He did well as captain, no matter what he’ll tell you.”

As if Kidd would ever fault Killer for any of this. The warning makes something curl in his chest, though, the need to see his partner and making sure he’s okay – _they’re_ okay – one he swallows down with difficulty.

“Noted. Thanks. I mean it, Heat.”

They wave it off with a lazy gesture over their shoulder on their way out. A hand on the knob, Heat pauses. “Hey, Kidd?”

“Mh?”

Their voice is soft, “I’m glad you made it”, a brief window into the hell they must’ve gone through while Kidd slept. Then Heat is gone, and Kidd stares at the empty spot they leave behind and finally lets his heart break, just a little.

*

The stitches are out, all wounds freshly wrapped and Kidd himself hopped up on a not-insignificant amount of painkillers by the time Killer shuffles in, yawning into the crook of his elbow. His right one, that is, the entirety of Killer’s left arm bandaged from shoulder to fingertips.

( _Chemical burns_ , Doc had told Kidd with a grim frown. _Acid, most likely_ , and Kidd swore himself that’s not going to be the first thing he’ll ask Killer about after almost dying right in front of him.)

“Wow”, Kidd drawls instead, a little slurred. “Heat wasn’t jokin’, ya _do_ look like shit.”

There was an attempt not to, at least, and the way Killer pauses mid-step and shoots him a dirty look tells Kidd he failed rather spectacularly. He mutters, “Hey to you too”, sounding just as tired as he looks with those shadows under his eyes and long hair tied in a messy knot. Dressed in a shirt he could swim laps in, and Kidd blames it on the drugs that he recognizes it only after a solid ten-second stare.

“Ain’t that mine?”

“Yeah.” Dragging Doc’s desk chair behind him, Killer sets it down and collapses into it without much fanfare. “You’re awake.”

And Kidd really shouldn’t laugh, but the sheer misery Killer’s radiating reminds him of the Curry Udon Incident years ago. It wasn’t very funny back then, it’s near-hilarious now, and there’s a thousand little details that tell Kidd his partner really isn’t in the mood to reminisce. Kidd smiles all the same; Killer’s eyes are slow to track the motion, narrowing under unkempt bangs.

“What?”

Kidd’s smile turns into a grin. “Nothin’.”

Killer stares. “…Exactly how many pills did Doc give you?

“ _All_ of ‘em”, Kidd tells him and cackles at Killer’s quiet groan. “You want some? Feels really good.”

A wordless headshake is all Kidd gets for his trouble. Killer leans forward, though, nudging Kidd’s side with the elbow he braces himself on, chin in hand. There’s the beginnings of a beard there, and Kidd didn’t even notice he could grow one these days.

“Hey, Kil”, Kidd says, even though Killer’s attention is already on him. That feels good, too.

“Hmm?”

Kidd reaches for him, using all his focus to keep his hand somewhat steady as he brushes along Killer’s jaw. “I like this. ‘s cute.”

A hint of a smile. Killer takes Kidd’s hand before it drops away again, slender fingers wrapping around Kidd’s rough edges with untold tenderness. “Yeah? What happened to me looking like shit a minute ago?”

Kidd pouts. How is he supposed to keep track of this stuff? Merely keeping his eyes open is a struggle, doesn’t Killer know that?

Another try, then. “I meant like, hmm… Ya didn’t sleep at all, did ya?”

“Mh”, Killer replies, which is his way of saying _yes_ when he knows Kidd won’t like the answer. “There wasn’t exactly time for a nap, between getting our asses outta there and watching the crew and–”

Nothing. Killer’s jaw clenches and he falls silent, gaze dropping to where their hands are intertwined.

“It doesn’t matter. Sorry I wasn’t there when you… Yeah. Sorry.”

Kidd realizes, with some delay, that Killer is an idiot and also that Heat was right. They usually are. “You’re sor–? K. Look at me. _Killer._ ”

Killer looks at Kidd and that heartbreak Kidd was saving up for some indefinite point in time in the future? It’s not giving him a choice in the matter, not anymore. Not when there’s pure anguish in Killer’s eyes, dark and _hurting_ where no one but Kidd can go look for it.

Kidd, who spent a week more dead than alive. _Fucking shit._

“This entire thing was my idea.” Kidd squeezes Killer’s hand, pulls him closer with the little energy he can muster. “ _Mine_ , not yours, Kil. What the fuck?”

“Kidd”, Killer starts and just, _no._ Hell no.

“I wanted that duel. I ate shit for it, so what? We knew it’s a possibility. A risk. We can’t conquer the New World if we don’t–”

“You lost an _arm_ , Kidd.” Killer grits his teeth hard enough even Kidd can make it out, hazy as things are. “Almost lost an eye. Almost lost _your life_. How am I supposed to feel about that? Tell me ‘cause I don’t– I can’t… _Fuck._ ”

A shaky breath is all the warning Kidd gets before Killer _pulls away_ , gets up, the hand that slips out of Kidd’s grasp going to Killer’s face and still unable to hide how his lips pinch downwards, trembling.

For a long moment all Kidd can do is stare and try to catch his mind from complete freefall. This… _Not good, definitely not good._

“Killer. C’mon, don’t… Hey.”

Killer inhales, exhales. Wipes at his eyes and looks at Kidd because he can’t help it, can he? He’s always listened to Kidd, no matter if he’s dead-tired or down-and-out or pissed off beyond measure. Kidd can count the times he’s seen Killer cry on one fucking hand, and that includes the times when they were _kids_ and Killer didn’t have a mask to hide behind yet.

Yet Killer… stands there like can’t bear being close to Kidd, not now; Kidd’s heart _clenches_ , threatens to stop functioning altogether.

“Call me an asshole. Do whatever you want just… Don’t leave, okay? Don’t leave. Please.”

There are still tears on Killer’s cheeks but– “’m not”, the words are a wet-sounding sigh more than anything. “You’ll just run after me and fuck up”, a vague gesture to Kidd, “That. All of it. Even more.”

Kidd’s lips tug up, just a bit. “Hell yeah I will.” A pause, uncertain despite himself. “Come back? I won’t say shit, promise.”

Killer sniffs. “Doubt that.” He makes his way to Kidd much like he arrived, exhaustion written all over his shoulders, near-boneless with it. Letting Kidd grab onto the hem of his – technically _Kidd’s_ – shirt and following the tug to the edge of Kidd’s cot.

“Get in.”

“We won’t fit.”

“ _Get in._ C’mon.”

Killer does, his bony knees jabbing Kidd’s one too many times to be a coincidence. The cot creaks dangerously under their combined weight but it holds and, oh, this is nice. Perfect, really. Killer is _right there_ like this, frowning down on Kidd as Kidd grins up to him.

“Hi.”

“Now what?”

“Now you sleep.” Kidd gestures to his outstretched arm with his chin for emphasis, wincing as the motion tugs at his neck. And his face. _Ouch._ “I’ll keep watch.”

“Kidd. You’re _this_ close to passing out.”

“And? S’are you.”

With how stubborn Killer can get, Kidd marks it down as progress when his partner reviews their current predicament with a critical glance. “Gonna have to turn my back on you”, he mutters, and: “ _Don’t_ move. Just stay put.”

Kidd is happy to do exactly that, watching Killer flop on his side and hiss as the movement jolts his arm. This close, Kidd can feel the heat coming off the wound – he promised not to say anything stupid, so he opts to say nothing at all. Just curls himself around Killer as best as he can without touching it, which isn’t much given his own arm is– Yeah.

“Kil?”

Almost nothing.

“…Yeah?”

Kidd rests his forehead against Killer’s neck, breathing him in. “Thanks. For everything.”

And it’s enough, to feel Killer’s quiet hum against his chest. There will be time for everything else, later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just... want them to be happy....... Why does Oda allow bad things to happen.........
> 
> So. A few days turned into, uh, three weeks? I'm sorry for the delay :c I honestly struggled with how to tackle this, there's so much to be said. In the end I settled on writing how their recovery _starts_ \- from here on out, it's a long process of figuring things out bit by bit (and, well, we all know how that goes for them later haha... ha..... sigh.)
> 
> Not sure if I'll add much more to this series! Maybe a few smaller drabbles and a Wire!POV fic... (He's criminally underrepresented in these, forgive me king.) In any case, I listened to [Killer + The Sound by Phoebe Bridges & the Gundersens](https://open.spotify.com/track/1xuA8vy1KA1cfP5UQ7NYSS?si=iRwgESuIQXmchr-Lnrkqxw) a lot while writing this.
> 
> ([Here's a more general Kidkiller playlist for this series!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2pQznzQmuOACBShDmwqxkg?si=MkOyxlubTgKfGnnI3NO6iw))

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://kawaiibooker.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/kawaiibooker)


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